


Mililogy

by SilverRoseofLight



Category: Hue - Fandom, Mag Mell - Fandom, Mili (musical group), Miracle Milk
Genre: Chocological, Deemo, F/M, Gen, Meatball Submarine, RTRT, Yubikiri Genman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:39:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRoseofLight/pseuds/SilverRoseofLight
Summary: In a different reality, there is a world called Mili where science and magic go hand in hand.





	1. Chocological

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a castle is built.

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who dreamt of living in a castle.

There would be a lovely garden filled with trees and flowers, and a playground, and a pool, and so, so much more. It would be grand and beautiful, fit for a fairytale. But the most special part of this castle would not be its beauty, or its rooms, or its size as many castles would boast. No, for what would make this castle unique was that it would be made purely of chocolate and cake.

She kept this sweet dream deep, deep in her heart. She dared not forget it as so many littles ones would, for who else would make this castle? To think that such delicious imagination would be a waste to put away was simple logic.

One day, when she had learned all she needed to make this dream come true, she gathered up the ingredients to make this sweet castle of her dreams a reality. With a magic song, love grated from her heart, and vanilla extract for extra aroma, she built it piece by piece in a secret faraway place.

The walls were made of marbled chocolate bars, the roof of milk chocolate cigars. She filled the pool with a rich blend of caramel and chocolate and stirred until it was a blizzard of flavor, and she made a slide with banana split that had extra bitter chocolate lava flowing into it. The garden's earth was of chocolate gelatin, with chocolate-dipped apples on sticks for trees and minty chocolate eggs filled with piña colada syrup for flowers. By the scrumptious garden was a playground where a stream of condensed chocolate and exotic açaí juice snaked by. The couches within were delightfully crunchy macaron cookies, and she made her bed a comfy chocolate sponge cake. When she was done, she sprinkled powdered sugar and gingerly decorated her creation with dollops of whipped cream.

Her dream had become a reality, and she cast a special spell on it all to keep it standing as long as she loved this castle more than anything in the world.

One day, the girl heard the ding-dong of the bell at her castle's gate. She hurriedly went to see the visitor at her door, for guests were always welcome in her home. It was a young man, with hair dark as licorice and skin that glowed like honey, who had heard rumors of her castle.

She invited him inside to enjoy her home however he pleased, since the spell would mend anything eaten anyway. They jumped down the slide of banana split as extra-bitter chocolate lava flowed, and bounced on the playground while sipping handfuls of the delicious stream, and chatted on the macaron couches while breaking off bits of it to munch on. He was a charming young man, and swore to keep its location a secret if she wished. He carved her a heart from a piece of chocolate before he left.

"A reminder of me," he had said, "though I will certainly return to this little secret base of ours."

The girl soon awaited his visits eagerly, treating each one as a highlight of the day. She prepared exotic treats for him, and made sure every part of her castle was perfect for his arrival. She would gladly greet him at the door and sadly watch him leave. Her heart melted when he spoke to her and praised her for her creation, and she forgot all her worries and sorrows when he was near.

She had fallen in love.

The girl offered him her heart when he next visited, and he replied with a smile and a kiss sweeter and richer than anything she had ever created. They would live in her castle, and they would live happily ever after.

But she had forgotten something. The spell that kept the castle together required her undivided love, and her heart now belonged to the man.

When the man next broke off a shard of macaron from the couch, the whole castle shook. The girl realized her mistake and begged him to not eat any more until she could cast another spell, but he ignored her. If the castle were to fall, he would not waste the opportunity to taste it one last time. He broke off more of the castle and ate it all while its creator could only watch in betrayal and despair.

Crumbling, crumbling, crackling, the marbled chocolate walls weakened and the roof of milk chocolate cigars snapped. Trembling, trembling as its foundation and everything inside melted. Every bite, every nibble on the castle now showed, then it tumbled to the ground, a heap of broken, melted sweets.

Then the man left to search for a new delicacy, leaving the girl kneeling in the ruins of her castle.

To her, he might as well as have eaten it all.

She wandered about the chocolate mess, eyes mournful as she stepped on sticky puddles and broken pieces.

My hopes, my dreams, my castle, my imagination. . .

In the remains of her room, she found a simple box made of cookie, the only thing spared. With trembling hands, she opened it. The heart he he had carved for her had melted too. Still, the girl scooped it up in her palms and brought it to her chest. Tears stained her cheeks.

My tears, my sweat, my blood, my hard work, my time, my faith, my trust. . .you ate it all. . .

She let out a sob, a terrible cry of grief that went unheard in the lonely place where her creation once stood.

You ate our chocolate castle.

They say that a girl was seen in the nearby towns afterwards, with a look that could only come from a shredded heart. Some would ask about what had given her such a look of misery, and she would share her sad tale.

"However," she'd say with an odd expression. "I can't say I'm angry at him."

Her listeners would frown and raise eyebrows. "Not even a little?"

"Not at all," she'd reply with a bittersweet smile. " 'cause I'm chocological."


	2. Yubikiri Genman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which promises are made.

" _Not at all," she'd reply with a bittersweet smile. "'cause I'm chocological."_

With that final line, a young girl with smiles and closes the book. _Chocological_ , says its cover. It's a pretty tale, and it would be wonderful addition to her little library. The girl leaves the bookshop soon after, the book tucked under her arm. The sun is bright but not glaring, the weather just right for a lazy afternoon. Perfect for a visit to the park before returning home.

But just as she's about to cross the street, a truck speeds by with its horn blaring. The noise is loud and sharp and ringing, nearly making her drop her book. She doesn't though, and she thanks whoever watches her from Mag Mell for helping her not dirty her new tale.

When she looks up, she realizes someone's staring from across the street. Young as she is, and young as the boy staring is, she can tell that he's not from Salvatore. His foreign face is strange, though not scary or mean, but the look in his eyes is definitely frightening. It's dull, yet terrible - like a soldier remembering a war. It doesn't help that his thousand-yard stare is in her general direction, as if he sees some horrible thing that she can't.

The look stirs something in her - great sadness and sorrow, regret mingled with acceptance. With emotions so poignant and painful, she considers it a miracle that she still stands. She wants to tell the boy to stop staring, but something tells her that even if she cried out, her voice wouldn't reach him.

She's relieved, _very_ relieved, when the child beside him -his sister judging from her looks- snaps him out of it with a tug of his sleeve and a worried face. The boy blinks and stares at the little girl for a while, then gives a warm smile and what seems to be an apology in a foreign tongue before ruffling her hair. The two soon walk away hand in hand.

When the siblings are long gone and the girl finally moves, she does not head to the park, but home, where her mother gently cradles her trembling child as she recounts the incident.

"Oh Ami," she whispers softly. "You must endure. People like us. . .we mustn't let the pain we see affect us so."

Still, she doesn't stop her daughter from locking herself in her room. When the girl finally gets a grip of her own thoughts and feelings, she decides to try avoiding the boy if she'd see him again, just to be safe.

This resolution doesn't last a day, because when she returns from the park the next day with a bouquet's worth of flowers in a basket, she makes a wrong turn and finds the young girl wandering about with tears in her eyes. She can't bear to just leave her there, crying her little heart out, so she walks up to her and offers her a flower.

"Hi," she says with a kind smile and chrysanthemum from her basket in her hand. "Don't cry. Are you lost?"

The girl sniffles and takes the flower.

Alissa, as she learns her name is, doesn't understand Torin very well, and she's even worse at speaking it, but it's clear that she's looking for her brother. She convinces her to stay where they are, somehow getting the younger girl to understand how one should stay where they are when lost.

When the boy finds them half an hour later, he pushes her away from his sister, gaze as sharp and piercing as thorns. Alissa is quick to yell at him, explaining the situation. When the truth dawns on him, he tries to apologize, but the girl's already gone.

She's more determined now to avoid both of them, but the world seems to be working against her, and the next time she goes to the park, she finds Alissa and her brother in her favorite field of poppies. She turns, ready to leave it for a different flower patch, but the Alissa spots her and drags her into the field to join them. As much as she doesn't like the boy, his sister is sweet as can be and she has a good time learning how to make flower crowns despite the language barrier.

"Nem?" Alissa says suddenly.

"Hmm?" Her hands are frozen mid-weave as the girl looks at her expectantly. "Nem?" she repeats in confusion.

The girl nods, then points to herself, "Alissa," then at her brother," Johannes," then at her with a curious look. "Nem?"

"Nem. . .Oh, name. You mean my name? It's Amapola."

She frowns. "A. . . A-mapa. . .A-mo-pa. . .?"she tries.

"Ami," she restates to make things easier.

"Ami?" Alissa smiles brightly when the older girl nods. "Xiè xie, Ami!"

"Xie xie?" she echoes again, head tilted in polite confusion.

The boy speaks up for the first time since she joined them. "Thank you," he says. "Xiè xie means thank you."

"For yesterday?" she asks. "It's fine. Happy to help."

The boy hesitates, then gestures to himself. "Thank you also, for helping her, and I am. . . sorry, for pushing you."

The apology is sincere, and Ami can't help forgiving him. "It's okay, Johannes."

"Hans," he corrects with a smile. "Name Johannes, but Hans okay."

They spend the afternoon together, and she stands up to leave, Alissa clings to her dress with sad eyes. She pats her head. "Sorry Alissa, I have to go home."

Her shoulders slump, but perk up again as she holds her hand up, pinky uncurled. Hans is quick to explain.

"Yubikiri Genman." He hooks his two pinkes together and shakes them in demonstration. "Promise."

"Oh, like a pinky swear," she says, understanding.

Alissa nods at her with her hand still hanging. "Tomorrow, here?"

She readily hooks pinkies and shakes. "Tomorrow, here."

"Yubikiri Genman?"

"Yubikiri Genman."

They both wave her off with bye's of their own, and Ami is glad that her wish to not see them again wasn't granted.

The spend many afternoons in that field. Alissa and Johannes become better at speaking Torin, and Amapola learns some foreign words as well (some Formosan, some Nippongo, and some a mix of both). They chat and tell stories and laugh and daydream together among the flowers, and like the poppies that surround them, their friendship blooms. They make those innocent promises the way only children do, promising that their ties are ones they will never sever or separate from. They are children. They are happy.

And yet, two of them are not.

Ami sees it in Hans's eyes whenever Alissa isn't in sight - a worry, a grief too strong for someone his age to be bearing. Like what she saw that day when the truck blared by. Hans sees it in Ami's eyes whenever he catches her looking at him after Alissa wanders off to a nearby flower field or to play with that little boy who often comes by. He unsettled by how alike it is to his own feelings, unaware that they are his emotions simply reflected back at him.

"Ami," he says one day when Alissa wanders off again and he knows she can safely wander about unsupervised, "Are you sad?"

She purses her lips. "No. . .not really. . ."

"But your eyes are even now."

She gives him a strange look. "Hans, are you sad?" she asks him instead.

"I-" I am not, he wants to say. But that's a lie, and he doesn't want to lie to his first friend in Salvatore. "Sometimes, I am," he admits. "When-"

"When your sister's gone." Ami stares into his deep, brown eyes. "You're also. . .afraid, when you can't see her. Your heart hurts. . .I don't know why. . .but it does."

Hans knows Ami's good at reading people because she often talks to them about the strangers she sees and how they feel even though she never talks to them. He didn't realize she was reading him like that too.

"I am sad. . .," he says after a while, "and afraid. . .and it does hurt, sometimes. But the reason why is. . .it is. . ." he trails off, as if struggling to find the right word. No use. Silly. "Stupid."

"I won't laugh," Ami says. "I swear I won't."

He lets out a sigh. "Do you believe in. . .many lives, Ami? Like you live, then die, then live again, then die again and again?"

"Like, reincarnation?"

He nods. Yes, that sounds like the word for it. "Maybe that, maybe it's just a dream. . .but I've seen myself die. I've felt myself die. . ."

Hans knows the terror of a truck speeding at him. He knows the feeling of a his sister's small body pressed against his own as he tries to shield her. He knows the feeling of numbness, of blood pooling beneath him and fractured bones piercing through his flesh from the inside.

Then, he would change and forget.

He would become a tall, mute shadow with long fingers who lived in an empty castle who could only find joy in playing a piano. Then one day, a little girl would fall down from a window and she'd call him Deemo. Without knowing why, he'd do anything to make her happy. He would play song after song, weaving notes into music to grow a tree for her to reach the window, then to build a staircase to bridge the final gap to her return home. Only at the end when the final song was played would he remember why he cared so much - he was the little girl's brother, and he died protecting her. And as she ascended to the world of life he would see no longer, he would smile as he faded and bid his beloved sister a final farewell.

His death. His existence as Deemo. His second sacrifice to his sister. He tells them all to Amapola. They are hazy ghosts of memories, and it would be all too easy to consider them dreams. But somehow, he knows that they are real. He knows it the way he knows he can trust Ami with these fragments and not his parents.

"That's why. . ." A light comes into Ami's eyes. "That day. . .I get it now."

She tells him about the day she first saw them, and he learns that the time she helped Alissa wasn't their first encounter after all. A part of Hans is relieved that pushing her over a misunderstanding wasn't her first impression of him. Another part of him is horrified at what she probably saw in his eyes that day because he remembers the flood of dream-memories that assaulted him when he saw that speeding truck.

"I'm sorry."

Ami blinks. "For what?"

"If it hurt you when you saw-"

"No no, it's alright," she says quickly.

"But-"

"It's okay," she insists, squeezing his hand. "You didn't mean it, so it doesn't matter."

Maybe it's the sincerity in her eyes, or maybe it's because she grasped his hand, but he shuts up.

They lie together among the flowers, holding hands in the silence that settles after these revelations.

"Hans?"

His eyes flicker to her.

"I'm glad you told me."

The gentle smile on her face is one that is burned into his memories.

In this field of poppies, many more words are said. One day, Amapola tells Johannes of a nightmare of not being able to find him, and he promises that if they're ever lost, he'll lead her to him like a light on a path. On another, Hans is so tired of the world that he wonders what it would be like to sleep forever. Ami comforts him, saying that it's okay to take a break, to rest for a while, as long as he doesn't completely stop.

This field of flowers becomes a dream for them, and at the heart of it they hook pinkies and chant,

"Yubikiri Genman."


	3. Meatball Submarine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a race is held.

A young man smiles at couples as they pass by.

Chatting and holding hands, pointing at things and whispering into their partner's ear, or even just standing near each other -almost leaning- with smiles on their faces like those two adorable young pairs (that boy and the other couple's girl look rather similar - a sibling double date perhaps? How cute. . .) - he'd like to think that this is what love's like. Maybe, it would even be what he'd be experiencing with **her** one day. . .

A snap right beside his ear snaps him out of his reverie. "Oi, Basil! Sauce's nearly done!"

Rosemary's a tiny thing, barely reaching his shoulder, but the look in her eyes is one that could make a full-grown man cower.

He lets out a sheepish laugh. "Sorry, sorry! Got distracted."

She glares and shakes her fist. "This is _your_ submarine, Basil, and I- _all_ of us from Cucina expect you to win! If you're not gonna have your head in the game, then I _will_ take over!"

It's an empty threat. The sub's already been tailored to his size, and Rosemary's rather diminutive stature would mean that she can't possibly reach the pedals and see the path at the same time. Still, he understands the gravity of the situation.

The Annual Cuisine Race is the highlight of the Salvatore Food Festival, and chefs from all over Mili eagerly flock to Torino to showcase their skills in culinary magic. Cooking schools participate as well, sending nothing but their best to compete. The honor of representing their school -perhaps even their _country_ \- is one much coveted.

"Don't worry, Mary." He ruffles her pink hair with ease, making her slap his hand away in annoyance. He chuckles at her - she really is tiny. "You know I hate letting anyone down."

And with all of Cucina Culinary Institute depending on him, his failure to do his best would certainly disappoint many.

With that, he turns his attention to his creation.

The tomato sauce simmering with onion blocks is ready. Rosemary helps him push the cauldron to the edge of the dock where his sub waits, then joins him in ladling the sauce all over it. The sub's as big as a school bus, but they are quick and efficient, and it's soon doused in a fair amount of sauce. The sauce glows over the slices of cheddar, over the lines of mayonnaise dressing, over the freshly slathered mascarpone cheese, then settles down. When that's done they give it another coat. There, it should be a decent shield.

A voice crackles over the speakers located throughout the harbor - " **All right everybody! One more hour before these scrumptious subs take off for the Delivery Under the Sea challenge**!"

The crowds cheer and Rosemary lets out some rather colorful words as they drag over a large tub of butter and begin greasing the sub's gluten-free sourdough with large paddles big enough to be oars. They scoop and smear, spoon and slather, scoop and spoon and smear and slather until the sub smells good and buttery all over. That should increase the speed.

Rosemary grumbles as she tosses a cup filled with a special mix of herbs and spices on to the bread a seasoning. "Ugh, now I smell like popcorn."

"No, _we_ smell like popcorn," he corrects, seasoning the bread as well.

"Chefs, enter your subs!"

Basil grins. "Just in time, eh?"

"Shut up and get in already."

Rosemary watches him hop through the hatch as she unties the rope keeping it anchored to the dock. "Hey Basil?"

He lifts his head.

She smirks. "Good luck and give 'em hell."

He returns the look as she slams the door down.

A countdown clock mounted in his console ticks down in sync to the crowd yelling outside as he rushes across marinara bedding floor and straps in to the meatball seat. Fuel? Check. Radar? Check. Nav gear? Check. Package? Che. . .oh shi-

The hatch is torn open and Rosemary's vibrant green eyes glare at him as she drops a padded package into the sub. "Idiot! What sort of undersea delivery are you expecting to do without something to deliver?!"

"Sorry!"

The hatch is quickly slammed shut just as the count ticks down to ten. Nine. Eight.

Basil takes a deep breath and bows his head. May those in Mag Mell watch over him.

Seven. Six. Five. Four.

He steadies left hand on the wheel and keeps right on the breadstick shift.

Three.

Two.

"ONE!"

A horn blares through the tiny radio as Basil shifts the sub into gear. The propeller whirs to life, sending the meatball sub shooting away from the harbor and leaping into the sea. He races against the other submarines, determination running through him. All the sub's-over thirty of them- are pushing against the Atlantic Stream now, neck in neck.

Basil's grip tightens and he grits his teeth. He'd show **her** what he's managed to achieve.

He makes the sub go deeper where the current is weaker, careful not to go too far lest the pressure crush his creation. His plan works, and he ever so slightly pushes ahead of the competition, though the stronger current above makes the top slice of his sub shudder a little as the binding magic in the sauces is tested. But that's fine, perfectly fine. He had put his all into his cooking, and the heart Mary added to it could have only strengthened it.

When he'd win, maybe - maybe **she** 'd join him in the celebration, and maybe together they could make dinner a feast at Cucina, so all **she** 'd have to do is count on him. **She** would do that at least, wouldn't she? No. No doubts. **She'** d definitely be counting on him too, trusting him like the others.

The current curves off soon enough, bending away to a different part of the Atlantean Sea. Basil doesn't let his small lead go to waste, going full speed. He soars through barnacle valleys and peachy coral reefs, keeping an eye out for any dangerous area that might damage his sub. He lets the submarine rise a little above the sea so he can get a visible view of the drop-off location. Still no sign of the island. He leans back into his seat, the juicy meat squishing behind him but not staining his shirt. Gotta love those anti-stain spells.

Yeah, just count on me, he thought. We'll make dinner a feast, so just count on me.

His mind drifts to the preparation made for the race. Most of the issues actually came from the bread. There had been a suggestion for making a crispy Parmesan-infused skin for it which -though admittedly delicious- might have been a bit too much with all the flavors going on and might not have survived the whole soaked-in-the-ocean-for-an-extended-period-of-time thing, maybe even compromising the sub. There had also been a dilemma of what kind of tasty carbohydrate they would use. Wheat? Rye? They eventually settled on the gluten-free sourdough after a long day of taste-testing which made many of the Cucina students sick of bread for a good long while but which also helped the nearby bakery reach its daily selling quota really, really quick.

Basil glances at his radar and makes sure that he's not going to lose his lead easily, then unstraps himself from the seat. He hurries to where the package still lies from when Rosemary threw it down, and sighs in relief as he notes the lack of any damage. Good, good. He hurries back to his seat and places the box in the on beside him (also made of meatball of course), and straps it in just to be safe. Prime shipping under the sea, he mused.

**_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._ **

"What the-? What's going on?"

Basil's eyes settle on the radar. It going nuts, showing several triangular dots on his screen along the oblongs of the nearby subs. No, no it _can't_ be-

But sharp triangular fins are breaking the surface of the water, right where the radar's saying they are. Sharks. The radar's showing sharks on the screens. The brutes closed in with mouths open, each full of razor-sharp rows of teeth.

They're biting on my sub, Basil thought, They're biting on _me_. _They're biting on me_.

The sharks of Mili -especially those of Salvatore- are just as vicious as regular ones, but they are much, much worse. Salvatore is known for its booming food industry. It's also known for the magic often present in said food. Now if one is what he eats and this applies to all, even to sharks that have eaten magic-infused food, then it's only quote logical for them to become partly magical themselves. The fishes' acquired taste for human delicacies has become somewhat helpful in recent years for clearing the Atlantean Sea of leftovers, but when it comes to a race where the mode of transportation itself consists only of human food. . .well, the sharks are still ravenous and dangerous, and their magical nature makes them bypass whatever enchantments or spells have been cast for protection.

The sauce shields break and dissolve as the sharks keep ramming into the submarine's sides. The beasts lick off the butter and mayonnaise dressing. They tear the slices of cheddar that were patching parts of the submarine into pieces and even some of the bread itself. They swim about the sub as the broken tomato sauce shield keeps dispersing into the seawater. It looks a lot like blood.

Basil's hands curls into fists. He's might be weak, but right now, these sharks are his enemies and he will fight for those at Cucina. For the teachers, for his fellow classmates, for **her**. So just count on him.

"Just count it on me," he whispered.

He opens the hatch of his sub and climbs out. All around him, he sees those bloody sharks destroying what so many had worked on. What he had worked so hard on. There are several toothpicks, each as big as a stake, stuck on the top of his submarine. Ropes that were wound around them to keep the sub tied to the dock are still present, though soaked. He ties the closest rope around his waist and pulls the next toothpick right out of the sub. The piece of wood is as long as his leg and thick as a baseball bat, but more importantly, its tip has been sharpened to a wicked point. A convenient spear.

"COME AND GET SOME!" he yells, plunging it into the head of the nearest shark.

His rage and indignation give him strength, and the spike pierces through the fish's body easily. He pulls it out of the slimy corpse and stabs down again. He wants to pierce and pierce and pierce and pierce it through all their tiny brains. All their tiny hearts and guts and eyes. An eye for eye, a tooth for tooth, an arm for arm.

He feels invincible.

Indestructible.

One way or another, Basil returns to the inside of the submarine with the bloody toothpick-spike and the last of the sharks eyeless and dead and missing a fin and hoisted over his shoulder like a trophy. (He will wonder later why on Mili he did so, and the only coherent reason he would form is that this: this was the shark that leaped out of the water and bit his arm while slapping his face with its tail, hurting his eye and teeth; and after killing it and tearing off its arm in revenge, his adrenaline-filled brain decided to gouge its eyes out and make its teeth into a bracelet later on. It's just as nonsensical to him as it sounds.)

There is definitely blood surrounding his sub now, and he can only hope that it doesn't affect his submarine in any serious way. He looks down and realize his clothes are rather bloody too. Wonderful. Their blood must have bypassed that spell as well.

The small hills of Piccolo Island are rising up before him now, and he grabs the package as he reaches the dock. As he jumps out of the sub and dashes to the drop-off point, horrified gasps sound all about him.

"Shark blood!" Basil calls out, placing the package on the table with Cucina Culinary Institute's emblem over it.  He grabs the bright red flag on it that will prove he made it to the island, then hurries back as he keeps shouting, "I'm fine! It's just shark blood, people!"

He hops back in to his submarine before he can see their reaction. He hopes that his explanation was caught by the cameras, because he'd really hate to have to explain it again if they already called an ambulance.

As he leaves the island, he notices other submarines docking. His sub leaps back into the sea, but several others are already racing back as well. Ham, BLT, salami, veggie and cheese - so many of them are already catching up. When he dives under, he finds the avocado, roast beef, and teriyaki shooting through the marine landscape alongside his.

His lead becomes smaller and smaller, and he realizes that the damage his sub sustained from the sharks must have been greater than he thought. His hope is slipping away when he realizes something - the Atlantic Stream is close. It could propel him towards Torino, but how much time would he lose by doing so? The roast beef sub passes him and he takes a deep breath. Well, he was already losing at this point, wasn't he?

He steers his sub and leaps into the Atlantic Stream, racing against the other submarines. He'll show them all what he's managed to achieve. The increase speed flings him toward the shore and he grins. Yeah, **she'** d definitely make dinner a feast with him at Cucina. So just cheer for me, he thought.

"Just cheer for me please," he feverishly muttered.

The crowd goes wild as his sub shoots breaks through the water's surface, pushing and shoving to get a better look. It shoots towards the shore, and a small figure's eyes widen.

"It's Basil,"she whispers. Then she turns to the nearest bystander who had the misfortune to be standing near the pink-haired girl and shakes him wildly. "IT'S BASIL, IT'S OURS!"

The crowd turns deathly silent as the battered meatball submarine comes to a violent halt, nearly smashing against the docks. The hatch swings open, and a figure rises from the hatch. With a grin, he waves a red flag over his head.

The crowd goes wild as the announcer cries, " ** _BASIL REGIO FROM SALVATORE'S OWN CUCINA CULINARY INSTITUTE WINS_**!"

Basil barely sets foot on the dock before tiny arms wrap around him and nearly lift him off his feet.

Rosemary squeals into his chest. "You did it! You did it you did it youdidit!"

He laughs as his classmates swamp him, congratulation's and we're proud of you's and whoops of joy filling his ears. Pride and warmth fill his chest, and they stay there long after the other subs arrive and the awarding ceremony finishes. It is when the buzz is dying down and the crowd begins to thin out that he sees her.

"Madeleine!" He calls out. "Maddy!"

The Gallician girl turns her head and when her sea-green eyes land on him, his heart skips a beat. "Basil!" she greets with a lovely smile, tucking a lock of her half-cream, half-chocolate-colored hair behind her ear. "Congratulations! You did magnificently!"

He lets out a nervous laugh, eyes flickering down. He suddenly wishes that he had changed out of his blood-stained uniform. "Th-thanks, Maddy. So, well, um, I was kitchen Cusina going you - I mean, wondering if kitchen were to come -no, I meant-" Tongue-tied, why did he have to be so nervous now? "I was wondering if you were going to come to Cusina later for the celebration. They'll uh, be making quite the feast, you know. . . "

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm going to be busy," she says, head bowed apologetically.

"O-oh, uh, b-busy with what?" he asks, trying not to sound too disappointed.

A boy with dark hair suddenly comes by and swings his arm around Madeleine. "Spending time with me!"

Madeleine giggles, oblivious to Basil's crestfallen expression. "Basil, this is Vinsent. He was a classmate of mine back in La Friandise." She turns to her friend with that sweet smile of hers. "We're going to catch up."

"And show me around Torino," he adds.

"Yes, that too."

Vinsent turns to him. "Congratulations! Gutsy move, using the Atlantic Stream."

"Hmm? Oh, that. . ." Basil notices the silver glint of a medal on his chest. Ah right, this guy was piloting the roast beef sub that came in seconds after his. "And congratulations to you too."

"Thanks!"

A stab runs through his heart when Maseleine grabs Vinsent's hand. "We'll be going now, there's so much to see! Congratulations again!"

He manages to raise his hand in a weak wave. "Thanks. Have fun. . ."

When they're fully out of sight, his shoulders sag. Stupid him, of course she'd choose her friend over some bumbling fool who can't even talk to her. Stupid him, of course there wasn't any real reason for her to help with the school's celebration feast. Stupid him, of course he wouldn't be an exception to that stupid family curse.

"Hey."

He blinks and sees Rosemary beside him, tiptoed as she places her hand on his shoulder. "You okay, buddy?"

He forces a smile. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," she says, rolling her eyes. "'Cause after being rejected by the main reason why you even agreed to join this race, looking like a kicked puppy obviously means you're fine."

The smile doesn't leave his face. "Yep, pathetic, aren't I?"

She frowns, "Hey now, I didn't say that-"

"You don't have to, Mary, I know that I am."

She punches his shoulder. "Stop it, could someone pathetic win the Annual Cuisine Race?"

He lets out a humorless laugh. "If he was chasing after a lie of a dream. If he thought he could do something in one great act that several smaller ones could've done better. If he believed curses could be broken."

Basil has never been intimidating. He was always too nice, too carefree, too happy for anyone to even consider him a threat. With his straw-colored hair and lanky frame, she often thought he resembled a smiling scarecrow. But now, with his long hair shadowing his face and a smile that wouldn't look out of place on a madman, fear pricks at Rosemary's heart.

But fear isn't a feeling the student particularly enjoys, so she raises her hand high and slaps Regio's face with all the force she can muster.

Basil clutches his cheek with wide eyes as she glares up at him.

"Stop it, Basil. You still _won_ , didn't you? What's done is done, so just accept that Madeleine was never into you and move on! There's more to life than one pastry chef from Gallia!"

He dumbly stares at her for a while, then a smile -his real, dopey sort of smile- spreads across his face as he chuckles. "Sure Rosemary, whatever you say." He rubs his cheek for a moment and winces, "Wow you hit hard for someone who isn't even a five-footer."

She huffs and crosses her arms. "Shut up or I'll hit you again."

"Okay, okay." He puts his hands up in a playful, defensive manner, revealing the angry red mark blooming on his cheek.

"Ah geez," Rosemary's expression softens as she tiptoes once more to have a better look at the injury. "I didn't mean to hit you _that_ hard."

"It's fine, it's my fault for acting weird again-"

"No, no I should've known my own strength-"

"No really, I _completely_ deserved it and-"

"I should be used to your weird quirks by no-"

Basil gently grabs the hand cupping his cheek, "Really, Mary, it's fine. It doesn't even hurt so much now."

"Uh Basil?"

"Yeah?"

She hesitates, as if finding the right way to word it. "We're kinda close. . .?"

He quickly realizes how there's barely an inch between their faces and lets go. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, S-sorry. . ."

They stand awkwardly for a while.

Rosemary glances at the stalls nearby. "So uh, do you think something cold would help? Because I saw this gelato stall and we've got time before we have to head back to Cucina. . ."

He shrugs with a smile. "Maybe?"

"It'll be my treat," she smiles back. Before he can protest she adds, "as an apology, and to celebrate too."

They walk through the crowded pier together with Rosemary in the lead.

"'Scuse me, coming through!" she mutters as they shuffle through the people. "Seriously, you'd think winning would maybe give you a pass for cutting through all these people or something."

He chuckles at her words. "I'm bigger than you, so maybe I should try? I mean, I'm sort of surprised you haven't been trampled yet-"

She glares at him.

"Right, shutting up now," he says, miming zipping his mouth.

A good fifteen minutes of shoving later, they arrive at the empty stall.

"Aw come on!" Rosemary exclaims, seeing the _SOLD OUT_ sign on the table. "So much for celebratory ice cream. . ."

Basil pats her head comfortingly. She doesn't even react. "Look, it says here that they'll be restocked and ready to serve by tomorrow."

She sighs. "But I was really hoping to get you some. . .

"We can come back tomorrow," he suggests. "It opens at nine. We're not having classes for the rest of the week right? Maybe we could, I don't know. . . meet up and hang out, if you want."

Rosemary blinks at him. "Basil Regio, that sounds like a date."

"Well uh, it sort of. . .is."

The look of surprise on her face melts into a warm smile. She lets out a small laugh. "Well you're over Madeleine pretty quick, huh?"

"I always. . .sort of knew that it was hopeless," he admits, looking away.

"Really? How?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow. I-I mean-" Nervousness trickles into his stomach. That was too presumptuous didn't it? "If you _want_ to come-"

"Of course I will, you dork," she beams.

A light, giddy feeling fills him. "R-really? That's great! I promise I won't forget, or ditch you, anything like that, but I may be a little late - n-not on purpose though! Just something might come up -something _important_ of course, because I w-would a terrible person if I didn't come because of something not important and-" He cuts his rambling short at Rosemary's amused look. "S-so wait for me please, if that happens."

"Sure."

"Yeah, just. . .just wait for me please. In case something holds me up."

"Sure," she says again.

Basil's not really sure what to say after that, because wow he must have sounded stupid. Then again, Rosemary did always called him an idiot. . .

His thoughts are interrupted when Rosemary grabs his hand, and like the fool he is, all he do is say a dumb-sounding, "Huh?"

She rolls her eyes and pull him along. "We're on a pier by the Atlantean sea as the sun sets over the horizon. Taking a walk around here would be a lot nicer than just standing awkwardly again, don't you think?"

He smiles. "Y-yeah. . ."

And so they walk together hand in hand in a leisurely promenade, smiling as the sun sets. ~~Until Basil remembers the shark still lying in the sub anyway, and they decide they might as well as try using it to make shark fin soup for the celebration.~~


	4. RTRT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which meals are made.

"Xiao Di? I'm back!"

There's a wet cracking sort of sound from the living room, subtle under the sounds of the television. She carefully places the groceries on the counter before closing the door. Slide the bolt, place the chain, lock the door. There, that should stop anyone from entering. When she turns around, the paper bag is gone, and she finds her companion already moving to the kitchen with the bag of foodstuff in his arms.

"So eager!" she laughs, heading into the kitchen herself.

Together they spread its contents out on the table and begin storing them away. Meat and veggies into the freezer, rice sack in the corner, spices and sauces onto the top shelf, canned goods on the layer below that. It's pleasant work, and they soon finish with nothing but enough ingredients for a meal on the table.

The young woman rests her arm on the kitchen table and props her head up with it. "Hmm, what shall we make today, Xiao Di? Something sweet? Something spicy?"

He reply is to tilt his head ever so slightly. The smile peeking from behind his tag is adorable.

"I'm thinking. . .congee today, how about it?"

He smiles turns downwards just a bit. He hops to the refrigerator and gestures to a note pinned there by a magnet that has **麻婆豆腐** and **咖喱** scrawled on it under a date with exclamation points.

"Mapodoufu and curry?" She furrows her brows, then remembers. "Oh, that's today already?"

His response is his head snapping down so quickly that one might think it cracked. For all Chu Ni knows, it might have. But broken necks don't bother the dead(or the undead), and it quickly snaps back to a more natural position. A nod.

The girl smiles once more. "Alright then, Mister, let's get to it!"

Chu Ni washes her hands before grabbing a box of gloves. The jiangshi obediently stays put until she manages to slip his hands into them, then washes her own hands again. It's rather hard for her companion to do anything that involves bending the arms -rigor mortis and all- but he helps where he can, balancing things on his outstretched arms and hopping to and fro to carry things. When he gently nudges her as she chops some veggies, she glances to her side and smiles fondly.

"Thank you, Xiao Di," she says, plucking the sandy yellow container of curry powder from his hands. "Could you bring me the red now?"

He readily turns around to search for the chili. The jiangshi can't seem to read anything- Chu Ni isn't sure if it's because whatever specific bit of his brain that handles that has rotted or if it's because language has changed so much since he lived that the words now are nothing but scribbles to him. He can still distinguish color though, and he's gotten a decent grasp of the current sounds for those words, so now there are a rainbow of containers and tupperware in her house.

As Chu Ni slices and dices and spices, her mind drifts to a time not so far in the past, but that feels like a lifetime ago regardless. It had been quiet, her only company then occasional traveler or foodie curious to taste what true Middle Kingdom cuisine was like. That was what she had been known for, after all- her rumored kitchen, her hidden restaurant, her secret laboratory tucked away in an admittedly dull part of the country. But even then her guests didn't always stay, because for all the obscurity about her she had also been known to sell her food in retort pouches that preserved their contents' quality so long that it was a little concerning, so sometimes the patrons would be in and out in ten minutes. It hadn't been a bad life by any means, but she had to admit that it was. . .lonely.

Until he came.

She had left her door open that warm evening, feeling that she had nothing to fear in such a quiet place. But lo and behold, not an hour later she found the surprise of her life hopping through her front door. A corpse come to life, a demon in the flesh, a vampire of her land- a jiangshi. Spiky fangs stained with blood gleamed as he searched hungrily for qi.

Desiring for obvious reasons that she would rather keep her life force, Chu Ni quickly recalled the legends she had heard. She had no talismans and certainly didn't wish to accidentally burn her house down, so she went with the most questionable of the methods she knew of- she dashed to the sack of rice in her kitchen and tossed its contents to the floor. She was rewarded with the sight of the jiangshi turning to the spilled grain on the ground and bending down to count them. One by one. It was honestly a little ridiculous.

He didn't stop even when Chu Ni stood before him, a large wok raised in her hands right over his head. It dawned on her how _small_ he was. How loosely the robes hung off his frame, hands not even escaping the long sleeves. How the bluish-pale face showed one who -if not as old as her- was younger. She lowered her weapon. Pity took the place of fear. The events that followed were hard to believe, even to Chu Ni.

"Hold up, Mister!"

The head snapped up, and she could see the curious (if slightly irritated) face half-hidden behind the talisman hanging from his forehead. He bared his fangs, only to receive a smarting slap on his forehead. He blinked as she continued.

"Right there, Mister, do you see that?" The head followed the finger to the grain covering quite a bit of the kitchen floor. "That's half a bag of Baijin rice! Do you know how much that costs?"

To her surprise, the living corpse sheepishly lowered his head. If the blood still ran in the veins of the dead, she had a feeling he would've blushed.

"Well I'm not letting such good food go to waste, so you are going to eat it."

The jiangshi blinked again, this time in confusion. She hauled him to his feet, then forced him into a chair.

"Sit down, Mister, and don't you move from that spot!"

Then she got to work, her uninvited houseguest watching in fascination all the while. Chu Ni cleaned up the mess on her kitchen floor, gathering a portion the rice in one large basin wherein the grain was soon thoroughly washed. The girl set it to boil then -because it was rather late to be cooking- opened up her refrigerator and scanned the shelves. She took a pouch of curry and mapodoufu -both orders that weren't due until later that week and that she could make a fresh batch of- and an MRE pouch (probably inferior to anything she made) that she had bought from the nearest convenience store out of curiosity.

The end result was a dish of curry, a dish of mapodoufu, and a dish of MRE beef brisket, all piping hot and fresh, and a great bowl of rice. She set the food in front of the jiangshi, then stepped back. The corpse's eyes were wide with awe behind the tag, and his mouth hung open. Chu Ni grinned. Even creatures of the night appreciated her cooking.

"How about it? That's a retort pouch of curry," she said, pointing to the plate in yellowish sauce, "That's a retort pouch of chili. Oh, and that's a pouch of MRE, but not made by me, so don't expect that one to be as good. I just wanted you to have variety." He continued to stare, prompting her to help him wrap his hand around a spoon. "Well come on now, eat up!"

His eyes lit up the moment the first spoonful entered his mouth. It was a little hard to tell if he was even chewing after that or just swallowing it all, but his enjoyment was clear enough. He soon abandoned the spoon to just drink straight from the bowl, and Chu Ni wondered when the jiangshi's last normal meal was. He inhaled the curry, the rice, and the chili. Yet he merely took a sniff of the MRE before making a face. He looked up, giving a questioning look at the girl as if asking if she seriously expected him to eat it.

"That bad?" Chu Ni tasted it herself, and she had to agree. The vegetables were a touch too hard, the sauce much too watery and salty for her standards. It wasn't necessarily _bad_ , but there was no way she was buying that again.

"I guess you're rather picky too, huh?" she giggled. "Well, I'll make you something else. You don't need to show me how or anything. After all I _am_ the Mad Scientist of Pengrenfa!" Not that anyone really knew her by that self-proclaimed title. It was just one of the things that popped into her head while musing now and then.

Her uninvited houseguest ended up becoming her housemate. Everyday she'd make him something new. Everyday she saw that bright look of his upon tasting a new dish. At some point she even printed out pictures of all sorts of delicacies and showed them to the jiangshi to pick, and she'd perfectly replicate each one if not outright improve it. In this manner they moved through Canto, Sichuan, Jiansu, and Hunan cuisine. Together they dined upon pulled noodles and soup-filled dumplings, wonton of all sorts and roasted pork, and so much more. Sometimes, she'd buy takeout or order delivery food out of curiosity, but her guest always chose whatever she had made over it. It warmed her heart.

It seemed to her some days that the jiangshi wasn't even really a monster, but just a guest, just a boy, just a child. He never tried to leave. She never tried to make him. He loved her food, and she loved the sweet look on his face that seemed to express the gratitude his voiceless mouth could not. He was her constant companion. Her only companion really, and she took to calling him Xiao Di.

Little Brother.

Time flew by. One week passed with this happy life, then two, then three, then seven. The weeks passed, then a month, then two, then seven. A month soon went by, then two, then seven. Then precisely 358 and a half days later, just last week, actually, the jiangshi surprised her.

Chu Ni had been watching the television. The Annual Cuisine Race of the Salvatore Food Festival was at its climax- all submarines were returning, and the meatball submarine had just leapt into the Atlantic stream. She was at the edge of her seat, eyes trained on live footage. It was passing the other subs, getting closer, closer-

Then the jiangshi hopped right in front of the television. Before she could get him to move, cheers blared out from the television set and Chu Ni sank into her seat.

"Xiao Di!" the girl whined. "Mister, you just made me miss the end of the race!"

The jiangshi hopped around, saw the tv, and gleaned some understanding of what he had done. He hopped around again to face his hostess and his head lowered, guilt evident in his form.

She sighed. "It fine, it's fine. I can watch the rerun. Still, don't be so rude next time, okay?" He seemed to cheer up at that. "So what is it Xiao Di?"

The jiangshi hopped back and stared at her. Chu Ni tilted her head. "You want me to follow you?"

His head snapped left, then right. "No then. Um. . ." He hopped in place, seeming rather impatient. "You want me to. . .stand?" His head snapped down and up again, so she had stood. Then-

 ** _CRACK_**.

 ** _CRACK_**.

Chu Ni stared in mute horror as the jiangshi's arms snapped to his side's. "Xiao Di!" she exclaimed. "Your arms, your arms! Are you alright? Does it hurt? S-stay still, I'll go get something to-"

Then he pounced. For one, brief moment, the girl was filled with terror. Because under all his sweetness, Xiao Di was still a jiangshi, still a monster. Had he not entered her home for her qi, fangs crimson-stained from his previous victims? Had she not many times caught him bent over in the corner of the room, an unfortunate sparrow or mouse bloody and drained of life in his hands? And not even a month before, had he. . .had he not brutally slain a man who had entered her home in the dark of night? (What for she'd never know, for when she awoke his screams were already dying down, and when she flicked on the light there was so much blood and so much flesh missing that she knew the man was beyond saving.)

But seconds passed, and Chu Ni still held all the life force she had previously except for the little bit she was sure was scared out of her. Xiao Di stayed still, body pressed lightly against hers as his arms stiffly stuck out on either side of her, and when she looked down saw the most curious thing behind his tag.

A smile.

It wouldn't have been so shocking if he wasn't well, a corpse. Suddenly the girl remembered all the time the jiangshi spent before a mirror, just staring with the most frustrated look in his eyes. Chu Ni realized now that he had been trying to _smile_ , doing his hardest to force his stiff, dead facial muscles to curl up in the simple expression.

And as Xiao Di's head snapped up, a look of adoration and his practiced smile hidden under his talisman, Chu Ni felt a rush of love for the creature that had become the closest thing to family since she was left alone in the world and a pang of guilt for considering that he'd ever hurt her. She wrapped her arms around him, eyes teary, and she wished dearly that he wasn't a corpse so that she could have hugged him tighter without worry of breaking his brittle bones.

And now? Well. . .

Chu Ni turns to her companion and watches him fondly. He's staring at pots spewing great white plumes of fragrant steam again, and he would probably be drooling if his saliva glands were still working as they should've. "Come here, Mister," she says.

Xiao Di gives the pot a last, longing look before compliantly hopping over.

"So Xiao Di," Chu Ni opens a cupboard and begins looking around for her best set of china. "You're going to go and help me set the table, okay Mister?"

The jiangshi's sense of balance truly is amazing, she thinks as she watches him, because never has he broken a single plate in all the days they've been together, nor spilled a drop of tea, nor let a utensil fall. The food's ready, so she begins plating the dishes.

Once everything's set and she sits down, Chu Ni smiles as she pour herself a cup of tea. "Xiao Di?"

The jiangshi looks up from the meal.

"Do you know why we're eating mapodoufu and curry today?"

He tilts his head in curiosity, eyes trained on her.

"Well. . ." Chu Ni puts down the tea in her hands and looks at him with her smile. "It's the anniversary of the day you came to me. Right here, Mister, exactly one year ago, you took up my spoon and started living with me. A whole year. . .the seasons pass quick, don't they?"

He seems to understand, and his smile still frozen on his face from a week ago shines a little brighter.

She laughs and wipes at her eyes. "Haha, look at me, getting so sentimental. You must be hungry. Enough of my silly little spiel, let's eat!"

They stir their dishes, mixing the savory sauces up with the rice, and Chu Ni watches Xiao Di with a smile. Xiao Di. . .he really is her little brother now, isn't he?

Then the door slams open.

Chu Ni's breath hitches in her throat- _The locks, how had the locks been broken?_

The man in black and white stands before their table, and Chu Ni barely registers the laser guns and Bagua signs in his hands when he raises the gun lightning-quick and aims at the jiangshi's slimy skin.

Then he pulls the trigger.

For a second all Xiao Di sees are the eight trigrams spinning in his eyes. For a second all that the girl sees is a bright light shining through her dear little brother's head.

The second passes.

And _his_

**_head_ **

**_BURSTS_**.

. . .

. . .

". . . . .Xiao Di?"

The man is gone. It is only her in her home now. Only her and her dear little brother, his broken head spread over their midday meal.

"Xiao Di?" she whispers again. " _Xiao Di_?"

She embraces the corpse, now truly dead, and her eyes well with tears.

"Shh," she hushes softly, brokenly, and she hugs the body a little tighter. "I- I'll stitch you back up. You don't. . .you don't need to show me how. . .since I- I am- I'm the Mad Scientist of Pengrenfa, remember? I-I said so, right Xiao Di? I'll give you. . .plastic eyes a-and. . . n-nylon hair. . . and I'll even. . . I'll make sure I get you talisman repaired! Don't worry, you- you'll be good as new. . I'll fix you. Don't worry about a thing. Chu Ni will fix you, and- and we'll. . .and we'll be family again. . . I swear. Da Jie will fix you. . ."

It's fascinating how easily the retort pouch method for preserving food can preserve flesh with a few adjustments. It's laughable knowing how easy it is to get in contact with the black market, if only you get acquainted with the right people. It's incredible how many ancient tomes there are on monsters, not just description and folktales but on their creation. Chu Ni learns all of these as she fixes her little brother's body. She learns how to sew up a human, how to acquire fresh blood and organs, how to use the ancient techniques that -despite their warnings and forbidden powers- are remarkably easy to practice. She tries all and fails all, over and over and over again.

And always, in her home, she makes their meal.

Today's menu is shark fin soup and dim sum. An impressive variety of wontons, dumplings, bean curds, and others lie in a bamboo plating. There's even a whole peking duck, golden and fragrant. The meal is expertly made, as appealing to the eye and nose as it is to the tongue, and anyone would be honored to taste such delightful dishes.

Chu Ni takes a shrimp dumpling, smile plastered on her face as she eats it. "It's very sweet and fresh today," she says with forced cheer.

Across the table, his body remains silent and unmoving.

"Don't be shy now." She places a few on his plate. The dumpling joins the other dishes on the colorful porcelain, cooling and untouched.

There's no retort, no sweet smile or bright eyes gleaming with gratitude. Just a still corpse, bent over as it sits.

Chu Ni's hand trembles and so does her voice. "Ah, still feeling picky? That's alright. I'll do better tomorrow. Don't worry. I-I'll do better, okay Xiao Di?. . .I'll fix you. . .like I promised. . ."

Chu Ni tries to smile, but she can't. She moves to hug the corpse and buries her face in his nylon hair. Tears fall and fall, because deep down, she knows the truth. No matter what she makes or tries, no matter how well she fixed the body or the meals, she couldn't bring the charm inside him back.

She can't bring her dear little brother back.

But she won't stop, even though she knows it.

Because he is still her friend, her companion, her Xiao Di, who had once given his retort which meant the world to her.

He will always be her retort.

And she will seek it over and over, no matter how futile her efforts.


End file.
